Arrested Hearts
by WickedPinkSunglasses
Summary: Kurt Hummel has long been averse to romance, despite owning a bridal boutique that caters to the idyllic happily-ever-after dreams that only come true in storybooks. Or will his mind be forever changed when fate gives him Blaine Anderson, a dreamy police officer who seems to have stolen his heart before he even knew it was missing?
1. Chapter 1

_A/N: This plot bunny has been gnawing at me since last June! It is inspired partly by Bridesmaids and also by my obsession with Say Yes to the Dress and my brother's love of watching COPS. I can't say how often I will update but I will try for once a week, it all depends on my level of school work, to be honest. I'd like to thank rainyblaine for being my beta and leepbc14 for also betaing my first chapter despite her busy schedule. Thank you to cc2011gleek on livejournal for throwing out ideas for names for me or the title of Arrested Hearts would have been way more corny! I'd also like to thank Justine (jinglebellblaines) for helping me along the way, Laurie (a-porcelainandcurly-christmas) as well as my best friend gleekguru on FF and who co-runs our tumblr! :) Now commence with the story! I hope you enjoy! _

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If you are looking for one of those heart-rending tales about the knight saving the princess from the dragon, the two long-lost lovers reuniting after years of strife and hardship, or a story that resembles one of those Avon romance novels you can buy from your local supermarket shelves, you are implored to turn back now and instead select a nice book off your shelf - one of those dog-eared, tattered ones you've read a million times, one you mouth the lines between sips of hot chamomile tea. This is not a story with kisses that linger for three paragraphs or where love is confessed at sunset beneath the Eiffel Tower or with the picturesque Appalachian Mountains as the backdrop. In this story there is no hero with a masculine-sounding name that ends with a voiceless velar plosive such as Jack or a heroine with a name made up of euphonious consonants like Gabrielle.

However, all that being said, this is a love story.

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_Fuck, fuckity fuckity, fuck fuck, _Kurt's brain screamed as he raced down the street, his signature black, knee-high Doc Marten boots clacking against the graffiti-laden sidewalk. His chestnut pompadour, normally primped to perfection, in a complete disarray, vaguely resembling a bird's nest. And his typical pristine clothes were wrinkled, as he had neglected to take to take them to their weekly scheduled dry cleaning appointment. All in all, Kurt Hummel was a self-declared wreck.

The swears might not have been the most eloquent words, but Kurt could hardly care about the grandiloquence of his inner thoughts at the moment. Everything in his life felt like it was falling apart at the seams.

Maybe he was being a _tad _overdramatic, but then again he lived with Rachel Berry, who was the Queen of Melodrama, in addition to being his best friend and high school quasi-rival. She was a thespian in vocation at off-off-Broadway theaters when she wasn't working as a clerk at Kurt's wedding boutique, _Bridal Bliss_ - possibly the corniest name he could have ever chosen, but that was his own fault for asking Rachel's advice during her Harlequin romance novel phase (which she never quite grew out of). In addition to carrying most well-known designer brands, Kurt's bridal store featured several of his own creations.

It was, however, quite paradoxical that while Kurt owned a bridal shop that catered to the ever-expanding wedding industry that spawned happily-ever-after promises and fairy-tale dreams, he himself was not a romantic.

Sometimes it was hard to recall the days of high school, even though he graduated just seven years ago. As a teenager, he'd lusted after Finn Hudson (who later became his step-brother - go figure) and sobbed over every romantic tearjerker movie ever made. Kurt used to dedicate nights to watching _The Notebook_ and analyzing every last line between Noah and Allie until he memorized the dialogue backward and forward. But, Kurt quickly learned in the time after high school that there was no perfect romance. No guy about to sweep him off his feet. No happy ever after.

And now here he was. Going through a midlife crisis at the tender age of twenty-five. An oft-times insomniac and in debt for thousands of dollars in student loans, rent checks and overdue credit card statements that piled up in the small cactus jar on the mantelpiece where he and Rachel threw all their bills - almost as if they hoped the bills would disappear from the jar and wind up in someone else's home or simply vanish all together.

Once he left high school, Kurt quickly learned that life as an independent college student was vastly overrated. And living in New York City wasn't as glamourous as it sounded when he was eating Ramen noodles and Easy Mac every night for dinner.

But the reasoning behind Kurt's lost love of romance had nothing to do with any of this. It was a known thing not to speak of this reasoning in the Hummel-Berry apartment or amongst any of his friends. He knew they talked about it behind his back, and often attempted to set him up on blind dates, but Kurt was honestly tired of people trying to play matchmaker. Months of retail therapy, tearjerker movies and a superabundance of cheesecake were his palliatives. But he was still not cured. Maybe that's what none of them realized - even Kurt in his own way.

Kurt didn't view life through a pair of rose-colored glasses. He was a cynic and haughty and in some ways pretentious. He was practical and sensible. He was fastidious about every aspect of his life from the way he ate to the way he dressed. But he was a diligent worker and a good friend and prided himself on these facets of his personality.

Which was part of the reason he was in such a hurry - a mere blur of a Alexander McQueen coat as he rushed down the city streets and dived into a nearby Starbucks, fumbling with his phone. He had a fitting in fifteen minutes with beautiful, young socialite, Quinn Fabray, the daughter of a family that prided themselves on their name and social standing. Kurt had personally designed their younger daughter's debutante dress a month prior, one of his very few projects that strayed from wedding or bridesmaids dresses; clearly the family had been impressed if they had scheduled him for their elder daughter's wedding.

However last night he had forgotten about attending the art gallery opening of his close, personal friend, Tina Cohen-Chang. Kurt decided to make a quick appearance, just _happening_ to run into Sebastian Smythe, one of the most arrogant men Kurt had ever met (which was quite a feat), who was one of the many men he had met on a friend-arranged blind date.

Kurt knew before even the first course was even served what a prick the guy was. If the sleek, smooth charm and the arrogant drawl of his voice wasn't enough, it was the way he drank his wine. Kurt had learned from enough dates that you could tell what a snob the guy was simply by the way he took his wine. Kurt could clearly recall the way Sebastian surveyed the wine judgmentally as it was served, decanted and poured into his glass, the man taking it in his hand afterward, swirling the liquid centrifugally in his glass. He then lowered the glass beneath his nose, taking a small sip, and paused in contemplation before announcing the wine was "far-too complex with raspberry on the mid-palate and medium-long tannic finish." Kurt simply blinked and sat through the rest of the dinner listening to Sebastian boast about his business expeditions to France and Spain the previous summer and his rather dreary and boring company merging with another company just as dreary and boring. It had been only a month ago and yet the man seemed to appear at every social event in Manhattan and seemed determined to make it into Kurt's pants, as Kurt was apparently the only man he'd ever dated that he hadn't slept with, at least according to Tina. Though Kurt would hardly call what he experienced that night a 'date.'

So for most of the opening night, Kurt spent his time carefully avoiding Sebastian Smythe by dodging behind sculptures and sneaking into the bathroom, bumping into him only a few times, thankfully. The rest of the evening was spent making extraordinarily low bids on some pieces of art for the 'silent auction'. He then bid Tina a quick farewell. He didn't get back to his apartment until about one o'clock, passing out on his couch after undoing the silly, and way-too-elaborate cravat he decided to try that night. Rachel wasn't home, probably at her boyfriend's. Kurt ended up over-sleeping and accidentally forgetting his phone was left on silent from attending the art gallery opening, requiring him to rush at twice his normal speed once morning came with the distinct cooing of pigeons on his fire escape acting as his alarm clock.

He couldn't pick up his clothes from the dry cleaners, had to forgo his usual shower and munched quickly on a granola bar before heading out and going to one of his best mercers to pre-order some more organza and taffeta. By this time it was rush hour and one of the subways was shut down, and having taken a cab last night, his car was still at his work, leaving him with barely any time to rush out to grab his, Rachel's and Santana's coffee. He knew it was risky putting coffee on the line for his appointment, but his head wedding consultant, Santana Lopez, was likely to go all Matrix on him if he forgot it, and the appointment could go a few minutes without him.

Tapping his foot impatiently in line, Kurt let out a deep breath of relief when he made it to the front, placing an order for a nonfat mocha, a vegan chai tea latte, and white chocolate latte with cinnamon, rubbing his temples as he waited for his order. He thanked Stephanie, the barista who had thankfully made his coffee ahead of time knowing he'd be on his way and held the containers of barely-balanced coffee in their cardboard holders. Then he caught only the blur of a wool gabardine trench coat before everything came crashing down. Literally.

Time seemed to slow down as a thick body crashed into his, sending him flying backwards and not-so-gracefully onto his ass, coffee splattering on the floor and the hot burn of coffee drenching his shirt and pants. Kurt winced and felt the burn of embarrassment in his cheeks as well as the burn of coffee and the stinging of his palms.

"Shit. I'm so sorry. Are you okay?" a kind voice asked from above, laced with concern. Kurt looked up, his vision fuzzy for a moment, blinking as his vision came into focus, meeting warm, honeyed hazel eyes. Kurt couldn't help but gaze at the other man for a moment, drinking him in. Slightly bushy, unkempt black hair, hazel eyes behind dark wire-rimmed glasses, russet tanned skin, and a kind smile.

A friendly hand thrust down to help him out. Kurt stared at it, unblinking, as his world slowly swirled around him until everything suddenly sharped to a fine-grained clarity.

Kurt hoisted himself to his feet, swinging his leather tote bag over his shoulder and giving the man his patented Kurt Hummel Glare Number Four - his 'you-do-not-want-to-mess-with-me' glare. The man instantly dropped his hand. Kurt couldn't help grimacing as he brushed himself off, swearing under his breath as the coffee scorched his skin and stained his precious new jeans. They were from Barney's, and they'd been half-price, too - a bargain. He would mourn them later in the privacy of his own apartment before he donated them to Goodwill.

"I'm fine, no thanks to you," Kurt snapped, bending down to pick up his Blackberry, which thankfully didn't have a scratch, and sighing at the coffee spilled all over the floor. Looks like he'd have to risk Santana's wrath after all. Kurt looked up to see the man staring at him with wide, curious eyes. Odd. Most of the time, someone faced with one of his signature glares would be cowering in the corner by now. But the hazel-eyed man kept watching him with a whimsical expression. Almost as if he was trying to figure him out.

"I'm sorry. I honestly didn't see you there. Let me buy you your coffee, or at least pay for cleaning your jeans or some-" the man started off, Kurt cutting him off with the extension of his index finger.

"Honestly, I don't have the time right now for your pointless apologies or puppy dog eyes. Also, these jeans probably cost as much as your whole wardrobe of Target polyblend put together. I have an appointment in ten minutes, so if you'll excuse me, I will be on my way," Kurt gave the man an icy look, before sticking his nose in the air and sauntering away. Actually _sauntering_. Kurt knew Rachel would be so proud. But before he could make it out the coffee shop, a warm hand was on his shoulder spinning him around again.

"What is it that you want?" Kurt asked brusquely as the man spun him around. Pushy, much? Kurt paused a second to really take him in. The man donned an old, faded '70s band shirt, jeans that were cuffed around the ankle and old tie-dyed Converse that made Kurt crinkle his nose. He was practically a hippie, minus the smell of fragrant herbs wafting off of him. Actually he smelled nice. Like warm cinnamon or an apple tart or..._Kurt Hummel you are not smelling this oaf who knocked coffee all over you! Stop it!_

"I just really wanted to apologize, um, what did you say your name was again?" the compassionate stranger asked. _Oh, how benevolent of him, the knight-in-shining-armor routine. A classic. _

But this was no fairytale and Kurt was not about to give this man his handkerchief as a sign of affection. God, what was he even thinking? The guy was probably straight as, well…Finn.

"I didn't." Kurt spat. He pursed his lips and yanked his arm free before finally exiting the building. Kurt almost wished he'd looked back - seen the stranger confused and befuddled. But he really couldn't stay and play games with Mr. Butterfingers. Instead he gave himself a pat on the back for his performance and made a mental note to tell Rachel all about the encounter later.

Kurt checked his phone and saw he had eight minutes. _Crap. _Kurt practically sprinted, dodging street artists, fruit merchants, people sketching caricatures, hobos, and other morning rush hour pedestrians crowding the sidewalk.

He made it to work, panting and coffee-soaked, with two minutes to spare. Santana barely looked up from her magazine before returning to flicking through it with one hand.

"Hummel, at least tell me you boned someone. Otherwise, there is no excuse why there shouldn't be a white chocolate latte in my hand right now." She licked her finger briefly before turning the next page of the magazine. Kurt sighed and headed to the back room to see what outfits he might have stowed away that he could wear. He couldn't let _the _Quinn Fabray see him in coffee-soaked jeans. It would be like greeting the Queen of England by mooning her; it simply _wasn't _done.

Kurt shimmied out of his ruined jeans and into a fresh pair of gray pleated slacks, then unbuttoned his shirt and cardigan, folding and setting them on a nearby chair before reaching for a pale blue Versace shirt. That's when the door opened and Santana strolled in, blowing on her brightly painted fire engine red nails.

"Santana!" Kurt shot out, quickly buttoning up the shirt and putting his arms through the sleeves of his cardigan. "Ever heard of a new thing called 'knocking'?"

"Hummel, I've seen your naked ass before, I don't get why you're so jumpy. Oh right, it's because you haven't gotten laid in eighteen months," Santana looked rather bored, resting her fingers on her hips, cocking one out and tapping her dangerously-high-heels on the linoleum floor.

Kurt's jaw dropped open. "You have _not _seen my ass."

"Hey, it's a good ass. Stop complaining," Santana huffed, rolling her eyes. Kurt uncomfortably crossed his arms over his chest, wondering how in the world Santana had seen his ass before remembering the whole purpose of his morning and his rush to get working.

"I don't have time for your lewd and far-too in depth knowledge on my anatomy, Santana. Has the Fabray party arrived yet? And where's Rachel?"

Santana's nose crinkled at the mention of Rachel's name. "Oh yeah, they left some message on the answering machine about canceling. Emergency trip to Bermuda or Baltimore or somewhere." Santana waved her hand flippantly. "Yentl was in here earlier crying about her latest boy toy and how he called her 'emotionally frigid' or some shit. She went to the grocery store to pick up some maxi pads or something. I wasn't really paying attention. 'Manda was texting me about going up to her parents' cabin in Vermont. I've always wanted to do food play with syrup. And I figured if I'm a lesbian, at some point in my life I should try the flannel look." Santana brightened slightly when she started talking about her latest girlfriend, Amanda, but otherwise kept to her characteristically snarky tone.

Canceled? After this apocalyptic morning, following Sebastian Smythe's advances and having to deal with his father asking him for the fifth time this month if he was sure that he wasn't on some kind of drugs because of god-knows-what-reason?

"Fuck, Santana, did they leave you with another appointment date? Please don't tell me you deleted their message. I _beg _you," Kurt groaned. "And god, I'll deal with Rachel and her boyfriend later. And for the last time, _please _never mention your sexual exploits in front of me, again."

As Santana complained loudly about him being a prude, Kurt rubbed his temples for the second time that morning and walked over to the shop's answering machine. Thankfully, the light was blinking, indicating the Fabrays' message was still there. Kurt quickly wrote down Quinn's replacement date in his planner and typed it into his Blackberry, all the while trying to calm his breathing from the stress of the morning.

Next was Rachel. Kurt ordered Santana to man the reception desk, with specific instructions to come directly to him if anyone came for an appointment or to speak to him. Despite Santana's bitchy attitude, she actually had the perfect sales pitch and was a gorgeous Latina who could charm picky moms and bridesmaids into seeing the allure and beauty of the bride's decision on the dress. Though on sushi bar nights, she would loudly complain for hours about what a Satanette with tiny tits one of the girls was or how another girl's dress made her look like Rod Stewart in his _good _years.

However, Kurt knew he couldn't trust Santana to hold down the fort by herself. It was like entrusting your castle full of treasure to a dragon. So he holed himself up in the back for the next forty-five minutes, listening to Rachel sob on the phone while she sipped fruity wine. Kurt sincerely hoped she had the sense to put a cover over the couch, what with all the sloshing sounds he heard in the background.

"He called _me '_emotionally frigid'! Can you believe that? I'm the most emotional person I know!" Rachel managed to choke out between sips of wine, extended sobs and pauses to dialogue from _It's a Wonderful Life_. "And he has the nerve to say _I'm_ emotionally frigid when he's the one who never tells me how he's feeling and holes himself up in his apartment playing World of Warcraft. And _then_ he has the audacity to say I'm selfish for blowing him off for auditions when he _knows_ this is my _career_!"

"Uh huh." Now, Kurt really was concerned about his friend. But he had gone through enough of Rachel's breakups to know her phases. First was crying and weeping; listening to Tony Bennett while playing _It's a Wonderful Life _on constant repeat;scarfing down Lindts Chocolates and Ben and Jerry's praline ice cream. The second week, she took up a hobby. Last time was sewing, and pottery the prior boyfriend. If Kurt recalled correctly, it had been glassblowing the time before that.

The third week she basically became Kurt - bitter and cynical towards romance. Scoffing at the sight of happy couples and then later pouring over her romance novels and clutching them to her chest, crying before it morphed into the fourth week where she either went back to her usual-Rachel-Berry-self which was anything_ but_ normal, _or _she was already dating the next guy.

"And he _refused_ to watch _Funny Girl _with me since his 'parents were in town.' Like I hadn't heard that line before. You can't watch _Funny Girl _the same on tape, Kurt! It's not the same!"

"Honey," Kurt cut in before Rachel could ramble on any more, "you've been telling me that you were unsure if you even truly cared about him anymore. Maybe breaking up was the best thing. You deserve so much better. You're anything but emotionally frigid and this Mark needs a brain scan if he said anything like that." Kurt spoke soothingly to try to calm his best friend, which was probably more difficult than crafting the space shuttle. "Now, I need you to put down the wine, turn off the Tony Bennett, and take a nap, okay?"

Rachel sniffed, and Kurt listened quietly as she shuffled around. The music and television shut off, before he heard the rustle of fabric.

"'ve got Heffalump," Rachel muttered drowsily.

"Good. Give Heffalump a kiss for me, okay, Rach? I'll be home tonight with Chinese. Get some rest, sweetie," Kurt said, his voice soft.

"Mhmm. Kiss kiss. Night, Kurt," Rachel murmured. Kurt smiled and whispered a goodbye before hanging up and going outside the back room. Greeting him were a bride and her mother arguing furiously while dresses and accessories adorned the floor around them, and Santana yelling rapidly and fiercely in Spanish.

_One crisis at a time._

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___Thank you so much for reading! Please review if you liked it, it means a lot to me. If you have questions or want to view any of my drabbles I'm dapperingcontinuously on tumblr. :)_


	2. Chapter 2

_A/N: Thank you again to my betas/cheerleaders Meg (nightblainewarbler), Justine (jinglebellblaines), Laurie (a-porcelainandcurly-christmas) and my best friend, gleekguru (on FF)! I couldn't have done this without them! As a warning I will be slower with updates though I can assure you there will be one next Sunday. With finals coming up however I won't expect one to be the week after, which I apologize for! I will certainly be better during the break, however. Also this week is a lot of filler and set up but the plot really starts to kick in next week! I hope you enjoy the police officer Anderson you will be seeing this chapter. ;D  
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If Kurt could give advice to anyone looking to get into the wedding industry he would simply say: _Don't. _

The wedding industry was bedlam full of raging Bridezillas, persnickety bridesmaids, frugal parents, and whining flower girls. And _that _was just the side of the business that Kurt saw on a daily basis.

But, he loved it. Loved the happy, thrilled look on the girls' faces when they found their dream dress. When the moms and sisters would tear up. When he was asked to design a dress and felt that lustrous charmeuse or Duchesse satin between his fingertips, as he embellished tulle roses or draped heavy velvet across a gown.

As in any job there were highs and lows. When Kurt added it up in his mind's eye, it always came even, but the sheer pleasure of knowing that he helped in some way to take part in one of the happiest days of a person's life was what tipped the scale.

Being a member of the wedding industry also brought him close to some of his dearest friends. Such as Brittany, a sweet girl with a heart of gold was a lovely baker on the Upper West Side who baked some of the best pastries Kurt had ever tasted, became a very dear friend of Kurt's. No one else in New York tristate area made tiramisu like she did. She was, however, rather scatterbrained and slow on the uptake, but she always meant well.

Then there was Mercedes. A proud, black woman who told it like it is and who owned one of the most successful florist shops in Brooklyn. Kurt had grown exceptionally close to her and their bimonthly shopping extravaganzas kept them in close contact when they weren't scoping out cute boys or reading old copies of _Vogue _together.

Even his friend, Tina, he met through the wedding industry as a photographer for the Motta wedding about two years back. It was only recently that she had put her artistic eye to focus on more the aesthetic aspects on the painted canvas.

However, Kurt was the only one out of all of them that specifically catered to only weddings.

Kurt always said he had 'fallen into the wedding industry' the same way a classically trained opera singer would say they 'fell into' being a backup singer to some cookie-cutter pop singer.

Everything had been going to plan. He had graduated from NYU with a Bachelor's degree, majoring in Musical Theater with a minor in Fashion Merchandising and had a list of neatly typed up credentials and recommendations from teachers laminated and held at the ready for any possible prospectors. He did not however account for a backup plan. New York was the LA of the East Coast when it came to show business. You were either in or you were out. And Kurt Hummel was about as close to landing a lead Broadway role as prominent as Fiyero as Lindsay Lohan was at making a comeback.

He bought _Bridal Bliss _on a whim. He always thought someday when he retired from his acting career he could launch a line of Kurt Hummel hats or shoes. Make some difference in the fashion industry. But owning a haberdashery or cobblery somehow didn't appeal to him once he sat down and thought about it.

Kurt always loved weddings from the time he was young. He stashed wedding magazines under his bed like a sex addict hid his porn. He poured over the pages, memorizing every fine detail. Kurt watched the Royal Wedding recording on his DVR easily ten times during his Junior year at high school. He discussed at good length with Rachel the pros and cons of spring and fall wedding colors. He considered the difference between more muted, light blue accents against ivory paper as opposed to big and bold frames with black and red flowing script for wedding invitations.

It just seemed a natural fit to Kurt at the time to go into the wedding industry.

Kurt wasn't quite sure where that Kurt Hummel had gone in the past eighteen months. Maybe he was tucked away in the attic somewhere, still inside him or maybe he was long gone like his cherub, chubby cheeks in high school and his borderline obsession with Patti LuPone.

Kurt wasn't sure why he was becoming so nostalgic and reminiscent about his high school days. Maybe it had to do with his high school reunion coming up or his Dad's five recent phone calls or Rachel pulling out their old yearbook a few nights ago and awing over their prom pictures. But Kurt couldn't help but blame that enigmatic stranger he had run into earlier that day - or who rather ran into him. There was something so familiar about him, but Kurt couldn't put his finger on it.

Kurt snapped to as Santana shook his shoulder, forcing Kurt out of his reverie.

"Barbra Streisand called again. I could barely understand her with all the peanut brittle in her mouth. You better get back to your apartment before we have to sign her up for Weight Watchers," Santana informed Kurt before muttering something in Spanish under her breath as she pulled out her phone.

"You really are such a concerned friend," Kurt dead-panned, Santana shrugging, barely giving Kurt a second glance and ambling off, Kurt having to restrain himself from rolling his eyes and heading into the back room to grab his set of keys, making sure to lock up everything and double or triple-check everything. His Dad had always made him paranoid since he was a small child to make absolute sure everything was locked up at his Dad's garage. The accessories were locked up, the blinds lowered, the back door and safe locked up, cash register turned off and sign on the door way turned to display a bright crème white and robin blue 'Closed.' Kurt finally locked the front doors, going out to his car.

He knew it was silly to have a car in the city, but he couldn't ever part from his baby.

His dad bought him it for his twenty-first birthday. It - or _she _as Kurt referred to her, was flawless. She was a glossy, sleek black Escalade with tan interior lining, surround-sound, and a nice, rumbling engine as opposed to his prior car that sounded like it was a coffee grinder when he turned on the gas.

Kurt got in his car, revving up the engine before pulling out of his parking spot and driving down the road. Driving was always so calming for Kurt, ever since he was young and his parents would have trouble getting him to fall asleep, so they would put him in the back of the car and drive for a few blocks. In a matter of minutes he would be in a deep sleep. Kurt turned on his iPod, trying to prepare himself for when he came home and found Rachel in torrential tears on the couch, cradled up to a tub of Ben & Jerry's.

The drive to his and Rachel's apartment wasn't too far. The neighborhood was away from the madness of the tourists and rather peaceful, in its own way. Suddenly that serene peace in Kurt's mind was blasted by the blaring of sirens.

Kurt looked around on the road to see who the idiot was who was getting pulled over. Forgot to use their blinker or was swerving over the street lines. Honestly, Kurt couldn't believe how some people were able to obtain driver's licenses. But wait...

The police car was right behind him, practically blinding with its flashing red-and-white lights and cacophonous siren. Kurt looked in his rearview mirror and saw the officer gesturing for him to pull over. Oh god. _Fuck. _

What had he done? He was the perfect driver! The epitome of what a driver should be, if he did say so himself. He had never gotten a ticket before in his life. Biting his bottom lip harshly, Kurt pulled over and began rifling through the glove box to find his registration and license. At least Kurt thought that's what he needed. He saw people getting pulled over in enough episodes of _Law and Order: SVU. _Crime dramas had become a bit of a fixation of his a few months back.

Epithets came out in a string in Kurt's mind as he clenched his fists on the wheel apprehensively, his knuckles turning stark white, jumping slightly as the officer knocked on the window, rolling it down and looking at the officer clad in typical police man garb, sunglasses tipped over his nose as he pulled them out and tucked them into the slight dip in the front of his shirt, his eyes not meeting Kurt's.

"License and registration, please," the man rolled off. _So the crime dramas are right..._

But Kurt could hardly focus on that. His mouth gaped as he looked at the officer. He hadn't realized it at first but holy hell, there was no denying this was Mr. Butterfingers.

He looked so different now. Maybe it was that the wire-rimmed glasses had been ditched along with the tacky shoes. Or maybe it was just with the power and authority he held he held himself a little higher, seeming more confident and self-assured. Kurt couldn't help admire how long and lean he was, with firm, broad shoulders and slim waist. And,_oh god, _his uniform cut his arms high, just enough to show his toned, bronze arm muscles. Not too bulky and not too thick, but just right. There was no way those were natural. Those looked like photoshopped muscles. No one in real life looked like that except for Ryan Gosling and heavy weight-trainers.

_Good lord, Kurt, stop ogling the hot police officer. Wait did I just call him hot? And when did I start referring to myself in the third person?_

Officer...Anderson, as dictated on his badge, looked down at him, taking in his expression, his eyes widening. Kurt immediately closed his mouth. Suddenly the other man was chuckling. What was so goddamn funny?

"I know who you are! You're the guy from the coffee shop today. Remember, I'm the guy with the hippie hair who spilled coffee all over you?" Officer Anderson smiled, and good lord, was he a model for toothpaste ads on the side?

Kurt's eyes narrowed. "Perfectly," Kurt said in a slightly snide tone. Kurt wasn't sure where that came from. For Pete's sake, the guy was a police officer, he couldn't be rude to him! But the man just kept smiling away like he had just found the prize at the bottom of a cereal box. What was he - five? At least he realized he had hippie hair. Although now it appeared to be slathered down with conspicuous amounts of gel. Kurt wasn't quite sure which he preferred more.

"Yeah, sorry about that. I was a bit distracted. I was late for work," Officer Anderson shrugged apologetically, gesticulating to his uniform.

"You weren't the only one," Kurt replied, his voice monotonous. Kurt cursed himself internally for his brazen and insolent conduct in front of a _cop_. Kurt cleared his throat and tried to regain as much civility as he could muster. "Excuse me, officer, for cutting the small talk short, but may I ask why I was pulled over?"

"Oh, you have a faulty tail light," Officer Anderson responded, before putting out his right hand, Kurt handing him his license and registration, the man giving him a fleeting look before returning to his car. Kurt couldn't help glance in his rearview mirror, his gaze latching onto Officer Anderson's ass. It was positively sinful in his mandatory regalia. The pants hugged his curves and swung as he walked - no, no strutted over to the police car. Kurt was hardly one to indulge in such Hedonism but couldn't help revel for just a moment before his eyes snapped away from the mirror.

God dammit.

Kurt felt his face burn and felt like hitting his head on the steering wheel. Why was he such an idiot? What was he thinking? Wh-

"Your record is clean and you're free to go. Consider this a warning. Just get those tail lights fixed, all right?" The officer handed Kurt back his registration and license. Kurt barely nodded, taking back the articles and tucking them back away in his wallet and glove compartment. Kurt looked over, presuming Officer Anderson to already have started walking over to his car, only to see him gazing at him expectantly.

"Do I know you from somewhere? Beside the coffee shop I mean, I swear I've seen you before," Officer Anderson cocked his head to the side, Kurt's eyes widening. So he felt that way too?

"Can't say I have," Kurt lied smoothly, the officer looking slightly dejected and deflated for a moment.

"Well, again, I'm sorry about your coffee, Kurt. I hope you have a good rest of your day," Officer Anderson put another hopeful smile on his face.

"You really don't have to apologize again an- wait. How do you know my name?" Kurt asked, incredulous.

Officer Anderson's eyes glittered in an all-too-familiar way. "Your license. I'm sure I'll see you around later, Kurt Hummel," the officer smiled, before tilting his sunglasses back over his shining hazel eyes, leaving Kurt speechless, which was a rarity in of itself.

Kurt restrained himself from looking at Officer Anderson's ass again and bit his lower lip tasting the bitter taste of blood. What the hell had just happened? One second he's insulting the guy and the next he's flustered and practically squealing like a preteen girl with a crush. Pssh, like he had a crush on this guy. Kurt never realized he had a police officer fetish. Oh yes, that must be it. It was the uniform. It could look good on anyone. Just as long as Santana never found out about it, he was safe.

But then was the fact that both of them seemed to recognize each other. And now the guy had his full name while Kurt didn't even know his first name. How was that fair? And what if he Facebook stalked him? Kurt could try the same thing but it was probably impossible to find a Mr Sexy Officer Anderson in New York. There were probably a million people with that last name.

Wait why was he freaking out about this guy possibly Facebook stalking him? Circumstances could be way worse. He probably saw his address and phone number on there, as well, and who knows how good the NYPD really does on their background checks are? Maybe he was really a creepy, demented serial killer, psychopath who collected jars of human intestines? Or just maybe he was just watching a few too many episodes of _CSI_.

However Kurt highly doubted though that the man was a high-profile murderer. He was too pleasant and dapper. He probably came out of his mother's womb twirling a cane, sporting a jaunty top hat and twirling a mustache.

Kurt's phone began buzzing in his pocket, Kurt snapping out of his daze, noticing that Officer Anderson's car was long gone and he had for the last five minutes had been staring into space, contemplating if Officer Anderson was a federal criminal and how he looked when he was born. No wonder his Dad wondered if he was on drugs.

Glancing at his phone he saw it was just Rachel asking him to pick up some Chinese from Lo Mein's down the street from their apartment. Kurt frowned as he read that she asked for ten vegetarian spring rolls. Oh the wonders of the break up diet.

* * *

Approximately twenty minutes later, Kurt was twisting the key in the lock and opening the squeaky front door to his and Rachel's apartment, internally wincing at the sight of the messy living room, littered with partially-used tissues, torn up pictures of Rachel with Mark, fast food wrappers and the kitchen reeking of burnt Poppin' Fresh Buns.

Other than that the apartment appeared rather untouched from when he left this morning. He and Rachel truly had been lucky to score such an immaculate apartment at such a low price in this market. Two bedrooms, two baths, a walk-in-closet. Kurt got the room with the walk-in-closet while Rachel got the one with the attached bathroom. It seemed a fair trade off, though Kurt's bedroom could have easily been a spare closet in a former life. Their apartment was lavishly decorated to fashion to an amalgamation of their styles. It was a difficult task integrating Kurt's panache and élan with Rachel's endearing and wholesome taste, but they managed.

Their apartment, or garret_, _as Rachel preferred calling their home after her whole opera phase ála _La Bohéme, _was lofty and spacious, overlooking a nearby park, the walls sun-kissed with wooden floorboards, their windows wide and floor-length, so in the morning as they were heading off for work they were bathed in the glow of the warm, pink cotton candy sky. They were however, just a couple years out of being poor college students, and had to make with what they had for some furnishings such as using lawn chairs in their breakfast nook and CD cases for coasters. But to them it was home.

It was settled in the tranquil, friendly neighborhood of Chelsea, where brownstone buildings were abundant and even the sidewalks were pretty; neat and lined with brick, topped by towering oak trees and neat flowerbeds.

Kurt kept the apartment relatively clean and Rachel called up the landlord when their heat was off - as she kept a more level head than Kurt in most confrontational circumstances. They watched relatively the same shows so there were never arguments over the Netflix queue and had the same health conscious taste when it came to the provisions of the household. But it was moments like these that Kurt really wished Rachel was just his best friend and not his roommate.

"Rach?" Kurt asked, shutting the door and walking over to the couch, peering over it to see Rachel tangled up in the afghan blanket his step-mother Carole gave him. She was nursing a Ben & Jerry's tub to her chest and snoring, her face caked with old makeup and mascara streaks running down her face. She was in her favorite Lilly Pulitzer pajamas, her brown hair scrunched up into a messy bun, _True_ by Spandu Ballet tinkling in the background. Kurt's heart strained a little in his chest and Kurt sighed softly and gently shook Rachel's shoulder.

"Rachel, honey, I'm home," Kurt whispered, walking to the kitchen to set down the containers of Chinese food as Rachel roused herself, Kurt dishing out the vegetarian chow mein, brown rice, pot stickers and spring rolls in ceramic glazed bowls. Rachel trudged over to him, grumbling and throwing away the burned cinnamon buns into the trash and grabbing a stagnant glass of water that was laying on the countertop, weakly sipping it, vaguely watching Kurt out of the corner of her eye as he prepared their dinner, before getting out two cups and pouring some iced tea for himself and lime Gatorade for Rachel. If the half empty bottle of Pinot Noir indicated anything she would need tending to a hefty hangover.

Rachel plodded over to the table, resting her head in her hand as Kurt served her dinner with a flourish of a napkin, Rachel sighing and taking the fork in her hands, fiddling with her noodles before plonking the fork down.

"I am a mess," Rachel announced, Kurt looking up from his own bowl, waiting for Rachel to continue. Knowing Rachel she was about to launch into a five-minute spiel and as much as he loved her, he knew how tedious her rigmaroles could be.

"No, really, Kurt! I'm so sorry. You have to put up with this every time I break down. You're too considerate to me. I don't deserve you as a friend. I don't deserve friends. Mark's right. I am selfish, obstinate and jejune," Rachel crossed her arms across her chest and leaned back in her chair, groaning and rubbing her temples and forehead furiously.

Kurt was silent for a moment, waiting for Rachel to finish her speech, which was exceptionally shorter than most, thought that was most likely thanks to the Pinot Noit, before he cleared his throat and took Rachel's hand in his. "Rachel Barbra Berry, you're headstrong and determined. You don't need a guy to stand in your way and you are not jejune in any way, shape or form. You're my best friend and I love you. Breakups, failures, I'll stand by you when you need me. I want to be here for you, Rach."

Suddenly Rachel was hugging him tightly, nearly knocking the wind out of him and almost sending him sprawling backwards in the chair. "Thank you, Kurt. That really means a lot to hear you say that. I'm sorry that I missed work today. I promise to take up another shift this week to make up for it."

Kurt patted Rachel's back, trying to expertly to maneuver her hair out of his mouth. "It's nothing, really."

Rachel sat back in her chair, finally, twisting her noodles, her attitude seeming to completely change in the span of thirty seconds. But that was Rachel for you. "Don't worry, I'll clean up everything too. So, Kurt, why don't you tell me about your day?"

Kurt hated that it was Officer Anderson who first came to mind.

_Oh where do I even begin?  
_

* * *

_A/N: Thank you for reading! If you have any comments/questions shoot me a message at my tumblr, dapperingcontinuously! :)_


	3. Chapter 3

_A/N: Thanks as always my betas/cheerleaders Meg (nightblainewarbler), Justine (jinglebellblaines), Laurie (a-porcelainandcurly-christmas) and my best friend, gleekguru (on FF)! This chapter is definitely more plotty and you'll get to know Blaine more! Next chapter will sadly probably not be up for two more weeks! (As for my Demure readers who might be reading this, probably next weekend is when I'll update!) This week is dead week and next week finals so things are getting a little crazy in RL. But to make up for time missed the chapter is about double it's normal length! Longest chapter yet, whoo! Also apologies if formatting with spacing is a bit off, livejournal seems to always want to double space my posts so I tried to go back through and delete all extra spaces but I may have missed some. I hope you enjoy! 333  
_

_Also for reference in the chapter:_

Kurt's texts are like _this._

And Blaine's texts are like _**this.**_

* * *

The days passed by swiftly, until one day felt like it was blurring into the next, the only indication of time passing being the change of season. The heat of summer had reached its peak and soon after warm showers of rain began to fill the milk-tea colored sky, passing over the city skyline and washing the smog out of the city for a little while. Kurt liked the rain, he enjoyed the sloshing sound under his boots, the smell of it against the sidewalk and the way he could curl up with a book at the window seat in his apartment and listen to it pitter-patter against the fire escape. It obscured the normal clamor of the city for a little while and felt like he could just _be. _

When the day of Quinn Fabray's appointment arrived it was another rainy summer day so Kurt was already in a relatively good mood. Kurt felt like things were beginning to look up for him. After this appointment they would be getting clientele from all over the Upper East Side, socialites daughters pouring through the frosted glass doors, begging for Kurt Hummel originals. Smiling at the thought, and with a hop in his step, Kurt entered the bridal boutique, the stark cream color becoming a shining beacon of hope. Even if his love life was down the tubes, he would at least succeed in his career.

"Today is the day ladies!" Kurt announced, clapping his hands together, all his consultants turning to him in unison, putting on their best retail showgirl smiles. Besides Santana he had two other consultants that often alternated their days, but today was a red letter day so both were here in case an emergency arose.

Harmony, a girl who wore too-bright lipstick and had an affinity for berets was rather bubbly and ebullient, almost as if caffeine ran through her blood stream. Her personality shone through on appointments and clients loved her enthusiasm, which made her a great consultant. Kurt's other consultant was Sunshine, a Filipina girl who was rather shy and often wore pigtails, looking as if she was about ten years younger than her true age, but really connected with the patrons and was the easiest of his staff to deal with. Both paid rapt attention to Kurt, which he greatly appreciated.

"Quinn Fabray is going to be here in about fifteen minutes. Now I want both of you to be on backup in case we need something from the stock room that Miss Fabray wants to see. Her schedule is very tight and she won't be here probably for more than half an hour so we have to work fast to find her something she will like. Okay?" Kurt was met with the nodding of Sunshine, Harmony and Rachel while Santana mindlessly manicured her nails. Kurt cleared his throat and gave Santana a saccharine smile.

"Santana, you'll be on duty for measuring Miss Fabray," Kurt told her, Santana barely glancing up.

"Fine. I know boobs are like gay repellent to you, Hummel," she said nonchalantly.

"Santana you know it's because you're our best in alterations," Kurt told her, repressing a sigh.

"Or maybe it's you don't have the lady balls to-"

Kurt clapped his hands together again before Santana could finish, Harmony looking appalled and Sunshine looking ill at Santana's crassness.

"Okay everyone, back to work!" Kurt declared, walking over to the counter to put the jewelry and tiaras out for display, Kurt shooting Santana a piercing glare.

"What?" she snapped.

"Santana, can you please cut back on the repartee, just for today? We all need to be on our top game so we can make this sale," Kurt insisted, pulling back the a curtain to display a variety of veils.

Santana pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the counter before letting out a groan. "I suppose you're right," she contested and gave a small quirk of her lips. "You're lucky I like you, Lady Lips."

"You know Santana, I think that might be the nicest thing you've said to me," Kurt faux gasped, clasping his hand over his heart.

"Don't get used to it, My Little Pony," she narrowed her eyes and Kurt snorted.

"Trust me, I won't," he promised, rolling his eyes and returning to the display, making sure everything was perfect. The gems gleamed and silver was polished, all the counters already wiped down by Rachel, practically sparkling clean. It looked flawless. His best gowns were on the mannequins, Sunshine and Harmony making sure there wasn't a wrinkle to be seen. Kurt was positive the Fabrays' would love it and they'd be able to find a dress for Quinn.

When Kurt was dusting off one of his shelves he heard the tinkling of the store's bell, indicating the arrival of a customer. Heart pounding fast, expecting the Fabrays' to have arrived, he turned around, but Kurt could only openly gape when he saw none other than Officer Anderson. He wasn't dressed in his police regalia nor his Target brand polyblend but decked out in a spiffy blazer, crisp slacks and polished shoes. Water dripped off his loose curls and his jacket from the rain and he began to rub his slightly damp arms and almost looked as if he was lost as he scanned around the room. His hands twisted uncomfortably, but as soon his eyes met Kurt's his eyes lit up with recognition and he smiled widely, waving like an overly-eager child.

"Kurt, do you know him?" Rachel stage whispered, the man's thick eyebrows crinkling in confusion as Kurt tried to hush her.

Making his way over to the counter, the man splayed his hands over the just-cleaned glass counter, leaving his smeary handprints everywhere. Kurt wrinkled his nose in distaste but said nothing. He could be a potential paying customer and it was bad service to be rude.

"Hello, Kurt Hummel. Do you remember me?" his hazel eyes twinkling in delight as he tucked back a loose curl that fell onto his forehead just as Rachel nudged him hard in the side, Kurt shooting her a look before turning back to the man.

"Yes, I think I'd remember getting pulled over. And wait - how do you still remember my name? Are you a name connoisseur? " Kurt asked with surprise in his voice, his perfectly plucked eyebrows raising.

Officer Anderson shyly ducked his head before meeting Kurt's eyes.

"Well you see, I have a practically photographic memory that comes in real handy as a cop. I can look at a license plate once and completely memorize it," Officer Anderson said proudly.

"Well, I guess that means you'd kill at _Jeopardy! _then," Kurt said dryly, Officer Anderson beaming and nodding quickly.

"Exactly!" he enthused, his heels practically bouncing up and down. Rachel let out a small squeak in his ear.

"This is the guy you were talking about from last week, weren't you?" she lightly hit his arm and Officer Anderson's eyes suddenly became amused and teasing.

"You were talking about me?" he said, smugly, Kurt's face flooding with heat.

"I may have...mentioned it," Kurt chose his words carefully, the man positively radiating with enthusiasm. Kurt fought back a blush and cleared his throat. "Now, is there something you would like to buy here, sir?"

Officer Anderson's face fell a little and he shook his head. "No, I'm just here with someone who should be here soon. And call me, Blaine," the man, Blaine, winked.

"Blaine," Kurt's stomach swaying slightly in an odd way as he said the name aloud. Blaine. "Um," Kurt froze slightly, scanning his appointment page and looking up. Eloquent, as always. "So, do you have a consultation scheduled or are you just browsing?"

Blaine chuckled and looked out the windows of the building. "They should be here any moment now. I'm with the Fabray party," he explained, Kurt's heart stuttering in his chest.

What? Blaine was straight? And marrying Quinn Fabray? Kurt had thought... Then why was this man blatantly teasing with him, winking and bantering with Kurt? Was the guy oblivious? And why did Kurt even care?

_I don't, I don't. _

"Oh, wow," Kurt gave a tight, close-lipped smile. "That's great. Why don't you just sit down on the couch and I'll be right with you..."

Blaine cocked his head to the side, looking puzzled at Kurt's sudden change in tune but simply shrugged and gave a smile before going over to the spruced white couch in front of the raised dais with a large silver mirror in front of it where girls modeled their dresses.

Kurt visibly sagged as Blaine walked away, Kurt noticing for the first time how intent Santana was paying attention to the exchange.

"He's so gorgeous, Kurt! Gosh, if it he wasn't yours, I would totally have cute vaguely Eurasian looking children with him," Rachel squealed with delight.

Kurt tugged his arm out of Rachel's painfully tight grip and shook his head. "He's not mine and-"

"Ethel Merman has a point, Porcelain. If I was into dick and I dug the whole Cabbage Patch, bright-eyed kid look I would totally let that boy motorboat me on the back of his police car. I bet he looks so good in that uniform too," Santana practically purred, brazenly looking at Blaine's ass as he raised up from his seat to grab a magazine.

"Santana, really!" Kurt hissed, sure 'motorboating' wasn't anything to do with an actual boat. "Besides, he's straight and getting married to Quinn Fabray."

Kurt wondered why Blaine would want someone like Quinn. Sure she was wealthy, young, beautiful and blonde but after that where was the appeal? And Blaine was a police officer, not the a Wall Street broker, so he didn't see how the social-standing Fabrays' would allow their daughter to marry someone of a lower-class. Kurt knew it sounded old-fashioned but the Fabrays' were all into breeding the next line of purebred, blue-blooded socialites.

"Hummel, he was totally eye-fucking you," Santana pointed out and Kurt let out a huff, feeling a strange coiling in his gut and sniffing.

Thankfully - or not-so-thankfully - Kurt was saved from responding to Santana's crude comment as a loud, boisterous woman entered the room, her white coat billowing around her, a young man struggling to close a soaking wet umbrella, shaking it outside before grabbing the woman's coat as she slipped it off, who was known other than Judy Charlotte Fabray, donned in a wholesome black dress, pearls dripping off her hands and neck, with diamond earrings falling past her short platinum blonde bob.

"-and Samson if you would please call Morris at the bakery and tell him I want three dozenhazelnut soufflé cupcakes with white chocolate cream for the Bridal shower next week, then that'd be divine. Good lord, the weather is downright awful, I've got rain all over my new Louis Vuitton heels," Judy Fabray shuddered. Kurt at this point was used to women, old and young bossing around assistants, family and friends, especially the brides' mother. And Judy Fabray was known for being notoriously picky, so he didn't even flinch as she more or less bombarded into the room.

"Mother, please," a girl sighed, entering the boutique, who was none other than the well-renowned Quinn Fabray. Kurt had briefly met her before and she was just as beautiful as he saw her last time. He stole a quick glance at Blaine's face and saw that his features remain somewhat neutral as he got up and went over to Quinn, sweeping her into a hug, the woman's icy expression melting at Blaine's embrace, Kurt's hands tightening on his clipboard as he walked over to his client.

"Oh, Blaine, good to see you're already here," she smiled kindly and looked Kurt up and down as she pulled away from Blaine, Kurt watching her soft hazel eyes. She was nothing like her ice queen of a mother, he could already see that. "Kurt, I don't believe we have officially met. I'm Quinn Fabray and must I say I _adored_ the gown you designed for my sister's debutante ball," she gushed, shaking his hand with delicate grace.

"Very nice to meet you Quinn. And good to see you again, Mrs. Fabray," he turned to the woman, who immediately turned on her charm as Kurt lightly took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "And my I say you look as ravishing as the last time I saw you," Kurt remarked. Sales and marketing was after all just a game of flattery.

The woman gave a hint of a smile. "Why thank you, Kurt. Now I see you've already met Blaine, so I suppose we can commence with the consultation?"

"Of course," Kurt chirped and beckoned Santana over, who to her credit had her retail salesgirl look plastered to her face.

"This is my head consultant, Santana Lopez. She will be measuring you for your fitting. But first thing is going over some ideas style wise so we can all be on the same page," Kurt explained to them, ignoring Blaine's eyes that were determined to meet his. Why was this guy keeping this act up?

Kurt gestured for them to follow him to the couch, Quinn and her mother sitting side-by-side, crossing their legs. Quinn started smoothing the wrinkles out of her cashmere sweater, Judy batting her hand away.

"Don't slouch Quinnie!" she lightly scolded, Kurt's eyes vaguely widening, Quinn rolling her eyes, Kurt watching Blaine give her an understanding look before wrapping a comforting arm around her which in turn made Kurt's throat feel like it was closing in.

"Now," Kurt said after a small cough, "my job is to help you find your dream dress. We have many sample dresses at our disposal or if you find none that suit you, I can design one myself for you if you want something more unique. I have a portfolio right here if you would like to see any options," Kurt handed Quinn a white and gold leather-bound scrapbook put together of all the dresses in the store and some ones he made himself, Blaine continuing to peek over her shoulder as Quinn flipped through the pages.

"Some of these look perfect," Quinn told him with a bright smile.

"Good! It's fantastic to see you're open to options. So, first lets get through a few simple questions," Kurt uncapped his pen and perched himself on a small gilded chair. "Were you going for something more simple and elegant or more ornate?"

"Something sophisticated definitely. Simple means plain and we mustn't have that," Judy answered for Quinn, before the girl could even open her mouth. "But she has to stand out. My Quinnie has to be the center of attention."

Kurt blinked in surprise. He's had mothers who've tried to take over appointments before, but usually if he could steer the questions back to Quinn he could get more of her vision.

"Okay," Kurt made a mark on his paper before looking back at Quinn. "Were you thinking more strapless or sleeves?"

"Definitely sleeves," Judy told him, Quinn gripping Blaine's hand tight, Kurt pulling his eyes away, his stomach clenching.

"Quinn," Kurt decided to be more direct this time, clearly speaking to her. "How would you feel about a train?"

"Those are so gaudy," Judy crinkled her nose, Kurt wanting to shoot out that Kate Middleton's dress had a train and was in no way gaudy, but refrained. "Don't you think so Quinn?"

Quinn turned to give her mother a sharp look and turned back to Kurt. "_I _would actually love a train. Sleeveless definitely and I wouldn't mind something a little more classic. Lace would be nice too." Kurt gave a relieved look and quickly wrote the information down.

Judy gave her daughter an incredulous look, her lips pursing as if she'd just sampled something sour and turned to her assistant, who was standing by her, quickly typing something into a Blackberry. "Stop doing nothing and call Richard to book for the Plaza's Black-and-White ballroom, you dolt!"

The blond-haired man practically jumped in the air, looking at Judy with wide eyes before he began punching in numbers into the phone and running to the corner of the room to try to maintain some distance from Judy and talk to whoever was on the other end.

Blaine and Quinn shook their heads as they watched the interaction, as if it happened all the time and turned back to Kurt's book as if nothing had happened. A moment later Blaine glanced up from the book and gave Kurt an encouraging smile and wink, which made Kurt's heart feel a little lighter. Kurt quickly looked away and glanced at Santana who stood a few feet away, who was trying to hide a snicker. Of course _she_ was finding the whole debacle hilarious.

"Santana, why don't you find Harmony and have her show Judy some of our display dresses?" Kurt asked, Santana giving him a look of understanding. Asking someone to show a family member or a friend the display dresses was clear message to distract them so Kurt could talk to the client privately and get them away from the pressure of their family or friends.

"Of course," Santana flashed a cloying smile before departing to the back room to fetch Harmony. Moments later the brunette arrived in a flurry, taking Judy over to the tulle ballerina gown dresses and explaining the benefits of each dress. Rachel was watching everything unfold like a spectator and Kurt suddenly felt like he was the ring master of a circus, maintaining what little order he could with the crazy that was going around him.

Quinn's hardened expression melted as her mother went away and her face fell into her hands.

"I'm so, so sorry, Kurt," Quinn profusely apologized, Kurt feeling a bit bad for thinking Quinn would be just like her mother. "My mother...she's taking over my wedding. She always had to take over everything from the time I was little. Every piano recital, school dance, any moment that should be mine, my moment to shine, and she makes it all about her. She acts like it's about me, but it really isn't. And this is _my_ wedding," Quinn emphasized, her hazel eyes filling with tears, Blaine gently stroking her arm, his eyes concerned.

"Quinn, this is about you. Not her. And you have to tell her that," Blaine told her, Quinn letting out a humorless laugh.

"Like that would work. She's planning everything. I don't want to get married in the Plaza hotel, I want to marry in the outdoors or maybe some small chapel. I want to choose bridesmaids that are my friends and not the daughters of some millionaire tycoons I don't know. I know I can't do that though. But I need this one thing. I need the dress I wear to be one I can look back in fifty years later in my wedding photos and know it's my one perfect thing," she whispered, her eyes turning to Kurt, pleading.

Kurt felt his heart pain for her and something he hadn't felt in a long time, strained in him. Quinn deserved to have this. And it wasn't her fault her fiancé was obviously either a suppressed homosexual or a modern Don Juan who didn't care who his sexual exploits were with as long a warm body underneath him. Or maybe he was just oblivious. But she shouldn't be held culpable for it.

Kurt sat down next to Quinn and took her hands in his. "Quinn, I'm going to design you a dress so beautiful it'll take your breath away," Kurt swore to her, Quinn looking taken aback before a smile began to spread across her face. "Your mother doesn't have to have any part in the deciding factor of your dress," he assured her and suddenly was enveloped in a firm hug. Surprised, Kurt lightly patted her back and met Blaine's eyes, who was giving him a wide smile.

"Thank you so much, Kurt! And don't worry, I have the money to pay for it, so even if she refuses to pay you, I can. Gosh, I hope my fiancé will love me in it," she sighed, a breathless smile passing over his face.

"I'm sure he will," Blaine assured her. "Besides, straight guys don't know fashion and brand unless it's about a car. He'll think your gorgeous no matter what, and by what we've seen of Kurt's talent I can tell you right now you will be absolutely spectacular."

Kurt's jaw dropped open.

Quinn cast him a confused look at his expression.

"What's wrong?" she asked, worry in her voice.

Kurt closed his mouth, a heat rising in his cheeks. "Nothing I..."

"So you are gay!" Santana sniggered from the side of the couch, Kurt groaning and fighting the urge to hit the clipboard against his head.

Quinn burst out laughing, Blaine still looking oblivious and puzzled.

"You...you didn't think I was marrying Blaine did you? Oh no! God no! No offense Blaine," she patted his hand as realization dawned in Blaine's eyes. "Blaine's wonderful but I'm not really his type. He's just here for moral support, plus he's one of my only friends I can fully trust to support me and not my mother. But, I still am going to be Mrs. Anderson soon. I'm marrying Cooper Anderson, Blaine's brother."

Kurt felt his entire body relax, Blaine sending him a glance as if he was holding in laughter, Kurt rolling his eyes. He didn't know why he felt so relieved. And Blaine was related to Cooper Anderson? The man who-

"Cooper Anderson? The man who revived Broadway?!" Rachel butted in, Kurt not even noticing how she had got right behind the couch so fast. "He's amazing! His role as Fiyero in Wicked had me in tears. And is my ring tone! He's my idol! I'm an aspiring actress too, you see, and maybe soon someday I can star opposite as his Elphaba. I bet his lips are as sweet as his voice sounds..." she sighed dreamily, Quinn's eyes narrowing.

"They are. But I'm afraid you'll never be able to preform in this town again if your vocal chords are cut out, which is exactly what'll happen if you get your puffer lips anywhere close to my man's," Quinn smiled sweetly, her face completely betraying the malice in her voice. Kurt and Blaine's eyes both widened. Maybe she did have a little of her mother in her after all.

Rachel's eyes nearly bulged out and she grabbed her throat, as if protecting it before scurrying away.

"She's not going to be touching my dress at all, is she?" Quinn asked Kurt with a stern look.

"Oh, no, no," Kurt guaranteed her. "She's just a cashier. She was practically a beggar in the streets by the time we crossed paths, with fanciful dreams of being a starlet on the stage. I let her have the job simply out of pity."

Quinn gave a small smile. "She's your best friend isn't she?"

"They say you can choose your friends but..." Kurt sighed and gave a glance at Rachel huddled over the cash register. "I'm living proof you can't."

* * *

Before Judy had made it back over with an armful of dresses, Kurt had sketched a quick design of a dress, which they agreed to make improvements on later, Quinn promising that her schedule was not as busy as her mother made it out to be and would return soon, without her mother, so they could talk over more ideas. Santana began to measure her as Judy arrived so everything looked completely innocent, thankfully.

Kurt knew doing this covert operation for a dress could be risking prospective clients if Judy condemned him for going behind her back but he had hope that if he could make Quinn's dress as beautiful as he planned, it would dismiss any misgivings. And maybe, just maybe Quinn's mom would like the dress better than any she picked out.

First came out the glittery dresses, dresses with layers of tulle, slinky drop-neck dresses with belts and some with tight fitting bodices, beading everywhere. Quinn looked overwhelmed as she tried on dress after dress, though anyone would admit she looked stunning in each. But Quinn was just one of those girls that could look great in anything.

"This is hopeless mother," she sighed, her tone annoyed as she returned from the dressing room, back in her regular clothes. "We can't find a dress in a half-hour appointment."

"Well we have the florist to see afterwards, I can't help we're on a tight schedule! That last dress you tried on looked fabulous, dear," her mother told her, Quinn making a pained face. Last dress had been a ball gown that looked like something only Cinderella or Barbie would dare wear.

"Quinnie, don't give me that look. Now, thankfully since they have your measurements this hasn't been a complete waste of our time. Next week we'll have another appointment and _then_ we can decide on the dress," she turned to her assistant, remaining completely composed. For a moment. "Samson! Find a suitable time next week for an appointment," she bellowed at him before going over and grabbing her jacket from the coat hanger, Samson dashing over to Kurt.

"Sorry about her. She always acts like she's the captain of the Starfleet and at every moment we're about to be attacked by the Klingons, I swear. I've only been working as her assistant for a month but I can see why most quit after a week," the boy apologized, Kurt giving him a kind smile.

"No problem, Samson," he told him.

The boy chuckled. "My name is actually Samuel but everyone calls me Sam. It's a lot closer than last week's though."

"What was that?" Kurt asked, laughing softly.

"Jeremy," the boy gave a sheepish grin and Kurt stifled a laugh, his gaze flickering to Blaine whose face had turned stony from watching the two interact for some reason. "Um, they're free for an hour next Thursday from two to three o'clock, is that good?"

"Excellent," Kurt confirmed, and watched as Sam went over to grab the umbrella.

Quinn and Blaine walked over to Kurt, Blaine's face once again jolly and smiling, and maybe even a little mischievous.

"Thank you again, Kurt. I will come over soon and we can discuss details okay?" she air kissed both of his cheeks and Kurt gave her a smile. "And don't worry by the next appointment we can tell her about the other dress. Don't worry about her, I'll deal with the fallout."

"That sounds great, Quinn. Just relax though, okay? I'm going to make you the dress of your dreams," Kurt told her, Quinn's eyes shining, before quickly hugging him.

"I'll see you soon. Bye Kurt!" she grinned before running over to her mother as she called out for her.

And then there was one.

Kurt turned to Blaine, expecting some cheesy smile or obnoxious compliment but instead he received a rather serious look and a hand clasped on his shoulder.

"Thank you, Kurt. You really don't know what that means to her. Quinn's one of my best friends and I rarely see her that happy unless she's around Cooper. Most people are too concerned about their jobs to do something like you did. You're amazing," Blaine said, breathlessly, his caramel eyes starting to flicker and dance. Kurt flushed and shook his head.

"It was nothing, really, I-" Kurt started and Blaine gently cupped his cheek, Kurt freezing, his breath catching in his chest.

"No, it really was," he told him, his fingers gently stroking Kurt's cheek before his hand fell to his side again.

Kurt could feel the eyes of Santana and Rachel on him and cleared his throat.

"Well...you're welcome."

Blaine's annoyingly happy grin came back again. "See it's not so hard to accept a compliment!"

Kurt snorted and rolled his eyes, Blaine chuckling.

"You know it was pretty funny when you thought I was engaged to Quinn. So just to be clear with you Kurt, I do like guys. I like co-" Blaine started to say and Kurt cut him off, blushing furiously.

"I've got it! I've got it now. You like guys. And...I like guys," Kurt told Blaine, whose eyes sparkled.

"I know, I could tell by the way you were checking me out in my uniform," he ribbed.

"I did not! I was just looking at that abomination of polyster," Kurt protested.

"But you _were _looking at me. And it's cotton," Blaine smirked.

"We are not having this conversation," Kurt told him, his cheeks burning, not sure why this guy kept pushing. "You're pretty impossible you know that?"

"I like to think of it as being persistent. A rather admirable trait, don't you think? I don't give up easily," Blaine clucked his tongue, but before Kurt could bite back with another well-timed wordplay, a loud beeper went off on Blaine's hip, Blaine taking it off and glancing at it.

"Sorry, I must be off, duty calls," Blaine announced.

"You're like a superhero aren't you?" Kurt asked. _Oh god no don't imagine him in tights. Don't imagine him in tights. _"What is it? A bank robbery? A cat in a tree?"

"First, I believe it's the firefighters that deal with the cats, second, I'm allergic to them. Third, it's my time to pick up pastrami sandwiches from the deli across the station or my ass will be toast," he admitted, though his lips were still quirked up.

"Oh," Kurt said, sounding slightly disappointed.

"Don't worry, we'll hear from each other soon again," Blaine promised him, Kurt's eyebrows pulling together, at a loss.

Blaine took Kurt's hand and lightly kissed the back of it, Kurt's cheeks flooding with heat once more.

"Goodbye, Mr. Anderson," Kurt intoned.

"And you, Mr. Hummel," Blaine gave a bow of his head before heading outside, pulling up his jacket even though the rain had only become reduced to a light drizzle. He turned back and waved at Kurt before disappearing from sight.

"Damn, I bet it only takes a week before the two of you are having wild gay monkey sex on top of that police car!" Santana snickered, Kurt blinking, lost in a daze for a moment before casting Santana a scowl.

"What is your obsession with that police car?" Kurt demanded.

"Nothing," Santana shrugged. "It just seems sort of kinky. That or maybe you'll get into the whole handcuffs and bondage thing. He looks like the type to tie you up and take you raw and-"

"Santana please!" Rachel covered her ears, giving her a dirty look. "Some of us have pure, innocent ears."

Santana gave Rachel a disbelieving look, before glancing at the peanut brittle she had been nibbling on behind the counter. Kurt earlier had expressly told her before to not eat behind there but in her post-breakup haze he had decided to ignore it, however he knew Santana wouldn't be quite so faint of heart.

"What's with all the caramelized sugar, Berry? No one is going to hire a chubby Liza," she gave a contemptuous smile, Rachel's face falling and quickly shoving the packaging back in her bag, giving a miserable sniff, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Oh, get over it. Both of you. Hummel's practically has become a nun and won't admit his hot beef injection is getting all kinds of riled up around Pee-Wee Herman look-alike and Berry, you have commitment issues worse than Kim Kardashian," Santana said roughly, flipping her hair back, leaving Kurt and Rachel stunned at her brutal honesty.

"I'm...sorry, I'm just saying, you guys, you need to get your shit together and you're the only ones who can do that," Santana told them, Kurt worrying his bottom lip with his teeth and Rachel staring intently at the floor.

"Well, Santana, I appreciate your concern but I must say it's not at all necessary. Besides, I don't even like Blaine. He's insufferable and annoying and-"

"You can't stop talking about him," Santana pointed out. "God, who'd know I'd be the voice of reason in this place?"

Before Kurt could ask her what she meant by that, the bell tinkled as a potential customer came in and Kurt immediately went over to greet them, trying not to let Santana's words bother him, though they continued to ring in his ears. He could stop thinking about Blaine at any time! Really.

* * *

Kurt was taking a relaxing dip in the tub later that day, his back and feet aching. He massaged his neck and let out a groan from the stiff, tight muscles from the gathering stress over the days events. Rachel had been in a particularly sour mood after Santana's 'intervention' but instead of eating her feelings she had delved into practicing her lines for the small role she had in off-Broadway musical.

Rachel always told him there were no small roles, only small actors but in Rachel's case she was both. Since Kurt knew she was on a short fuse though he decided to keep his comments to himself. At least he had the self control Santana didn't possess.

Sighing, Kurt pried his hands away from his neck and shoulders and tipped back his head, closing his eyes, trying to imagine himself floating. He used to think baths were disgusting, since it was basically wading around in your own filth, but these bubble baths had turned into one of the few times he could completely unwind. And people change over time. Kurt had learnt that first hand.

As Kurt's fingers started to become pruney, Kurt began to think he should get out of the bath tub just as his phone started buzzing. Opening his eyes, Kurt wiped his hands on the small wash cloth beside him and picked up the phone, holding it outside the bath so he wouldn't accidentally drop it. His eyebrows furrowed when he saw the unfamiliar number and he opened the text to read it.

He should've known.

**_Salutations, Kurt. I hope you had a good evening. Now I know you're probably wondering who this is, so don't go all NCIS, it's just me. Blaine. Though it was probably apparent from my obvious charm ;) _**

**_Jeez that probably sounded cocky. I'm not a jerk, I swear!_**

**_I'm nice. I like Christmas movies, so don't think of me as a Grinch. That's what I'm doing actually. Watching Christmas movies. I know it's July and I'm eating ice cream while watching it. Don't judge me! _**

**_Well okay you can but only because it's chocolate with peanut butter. _**

What was...how had he gotten his phone number?! Had he memorized that too like his name? And god why did he have to sound so adorable sometimes it made it hard to insult him? Maybe Kurt should start reconsidering if this guy was actually a psychopath. Or a sociopath.

_Blaine, I'm going to stop right there before you word vomit more in my inbox, which I believe is what you are intending to do._

_And believe me I am judging you. _

**_:(_**

_Are you giving me the puppy dog eyes right now? God, I can tell even over text._

**_You know me too well already. I knew we'd be good friends._**

Friends?!

_Friends? I barely know you, Blaine. Though you appear to know a lot about me including my phone number... How did you even get that?_

**_Um, well you see Kurt you have these business cards in the front of your store. They had your cell phone number on there. _**

_Those are just for customers or people who want to book an appointment. Or for business matters, which this obviously isn't._

**_Are you mad? :(_**

_Gosh, you can't just give me that emoticon every time! _

_It makes me feel bad._

**_Sorry. :(_**

**_Oops I forgot not to use :(_**

_Now you're just teasing me._

**_Now you're getting it. ;) _**

_So ice cream? Really, Blaine? It's nine o'clock._

**_Kurt! Dessert doesn't have a time frame!_**

_Uh huh._

**_Oh shit. My dog almost got into my ice cream. _**

**_See even Humphrey realizes dessert time is all the time!_**

Maybe this guy just had ADHD? He seemed to be changing topics faster than Taylor Swift got a different boyfriend. And he seriously had a dog? Kurt felt something stir inside him as he typed out his next text message.

_Of course you have a dog..._

**_What do you mean of course I have a dog?_**

_Nothing, nothing. Um, so Humphrey, Blaine?_

**_Yep, after Humphrey Bogart!_**

_God you really are dapper._

**_I'll take that as a compliment._**

_It was. _

**_Good._**

Kurt sucked on his bottom lip and set down his phone before getting out of the bath and getting dressed, ignoring the buzzing of his phone, signaling new messages from Blaine. God this guy was so perfect it was almost impossible. He was witty, knew classical film, had a goddamn dog, and even made lesbians like Santana practically drool. There had to be some catch.

Kurt put on his fluffiest robe, and began his moisturizing routine, muting his phone and feeling slightly guilty for not responding to Blaine. But it was odd...Blaine made him feel things he hadn't felt before and it was unsettling. He was juvenile and obnoxious at times but there was something Kurt couldn't quite put his finger on.

After Kurt was finished with his face sloughing regime, he set his moisturizers aside and headed for his bedroom, falling back on his bed, his curiosity growing too much to not look at his phone, so he relented and picked up his phone to read Blaine's texts.

**_Do you have any pets? _**

**_Kurt?_**

**_Kuuuuurt?_**

**_Did you leave? :(_**

**_By the way, Quinn said it was okay if I came to the appointment next week is that all right by you?_**

**_Hmm I might take that opportunity to flood your inbox._**

**_So you say you don't know me so you can't be my friend so I'll tell you some things about me._**

**_My favorite food is anything peanut butter or chocolate. Especially combined._**

**_My middle name is Devon._**

**_I fenced back in high school._**

**_I love to sing and dance and used to want to become famous like the Backstreet Boys and be in a boy band._**

**_Embarrassing I know. But you wanted to know this kind of stuff right?_**

**_But then I kinda realized I was gay and the idea of thousands of girls screaming my name didn't appeal to me as much._**

**_My best friends beside Quinn are Wes and David, who I've known since I went to Dalton Academy, which was my high school._**

**_I also am adorkable, which you already know. Is that enough, Kurt?_**

Kurt couldn't help but laugh. He read over each of Blaine's message about three times, his heart feeling like it was swelling and a goofy grin spreading across his face. Boy was he cute. Something familiar rung in his head when Blaine said he went to Dalton Academy. Where was it he had heard of that school before?

Instead of responding to every one of Blaine's texts, Kurt decided to keep it sweet and short.

_You're probably the most peculiar friend I've ever had, Blaine._

**_:)_**

* * *

**___A/N: Again any questions about when I'm going to update or about the story in general send me a message to my tumblr dapperingcontinuously! :)_**


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: I apologize for the delay! As always thank you to my amazing beta Meg (rainyblaine). And to support from Justine (blainemcsassypants), Laurie (porcelainandcurly4eva) and my best friend, gleekguru (on FF)! I hope you all had happy and safe holidays! I was hoping that winter break would help time wise with my writing but my schedule has become rather occupied with family and friends lately. I actually think my returning to school will make updates faster. Lets hope that's the case! This chapter has a lot more plot to it and a lot is unexplained or may not make sense but I promise there is a method to my madness. ;) Anyway, enjoy!

* * *

Kurt could recall the days long past of his childhood as if they were only yesterday.

He still remembered the little boy who used to always need help to reach the dishes, the one who tugged his mother's hand over to see frosted cakes in bakery windows and who was the only boy in his third grade class who could play double dutch. The optimistic bright-eyed kid with hopes, dreams and ambition.

It's a funny thing, time. It's fickle with every moment changing to next until there is nothing but memories, torn up photographs, and musty old boxes you stow away in your attic. Memories forgotten, memories you beg your mind to forget, memories you will never forget no matter what.

Kurt realized as he grew older how there are two kinds of people in this world: people who do everything they can to forget their past, and then those who spend the rest of their lives dwelling on the past. Wishing for that time back.

He thought of mundane Lima with all the dreary people holding onto their glory days. And then there were those like him and Rachel, who escaped and never looked back, in search of lives teemed with excitement and meaning. But no matter how hard they tried, the past always crept back up on them. Lima would always be a part of Kurt, no matter how much he tried to deny it.

It wasn't until that Sunday that Kurt realized that. Realized your past was always with you, no matter how hard you may try to push it away.

It was a pleasant Sunday, though Kurt was prejudiced since it was the one day of the week he had off of work. He normally took advantage of this opportunity by sleeping in, which he had today.

He woke when the morning sunshine began to streak across his bedspread, casting a warm rosy glow over his entire room. The pigeons cooed outside on his windowsill which was a nice alternative to the blaring of an alarm he'd grown accustomed to. He stayed in his bed for a while, remaining snug and content until his stomach began to stir at which point he decided to get up for breakfast.

Kurt dragged himself out of bed and trudged into the kitchen, where upon he discovered Rachel garbed in a pink organza sundress and sparkling white sandals which clacked against the kitchen tiles. She hummed away as she prepared vegan blueberry waffles, only ceasing when she heard Kurt's stifled laughter. She spun around, her dress whipping out like a flag before her face lit up and she proceeded to pounce on him.

"Kurt, darling!" Rachel chirped, smacking a kiss on Kurt's cheek, leaving a bright coral pink lipstick mark on his cheek, which she began to dab away at with a nearby napkin. Kurt winced, trying to draw his face back. Rachel really could be the embarrassing mother-hen type when she wanted to.

"Well, you're up early," Kurt remarked, taking in her dress when Rachel finally drew back. Since her most recent breakup he had to pry her out of bed every morning either by force or with the promise of smoothies. And if that didn't work, the promise of cake. It hadn't been a month of her usual recovery period either, so really there was only one answer to why she was so cheerful.

"I have a date," she squealed, before Kurt could even say another word, taking Kurt's hands and jumping up and down.

Even though Kurt had already had gathered that, he worked up the excitement on Rachel's behalf. Thank god he had a credential in acting.

"Really? Wow, that's great!" Kurt enthused, his eyes widening with faux shock.

"I know," Rachel trilled jovially, twirling her caramel locks with her fingers. "You met him briefly before years ago. Brody Weston, remember him? From the Winter showcase way back when? He was a Junior when I was a Freshman at NYADA. I thought he never noticed me, but last night at the rehearsal for _Little Me_, he turned up and he knew exactly who I was. It turns out he's the understudy for Noble Eggleston opposite my Belle Poitrine! A match made in heaven, I'd say," Rachel sighed forlornly, beginning to plait her hair as she rested the small of her back against the counter top.

"Sounds like it," Kurt concurred, letting out a small chuckle, thinking that those were possibly two of the most ridiculous names he'd ever heard.

"Anyway, afterward he came up to me and told me he always thought I was cute and he asked me out! And now we're having lunch today at an all-vegan eatery," she fluttered her eyelashes and let out another breathy sigh. "Oh and get this!" She jumped up and grabbed Kurt by his shoulders.

"He knows a gay guy who's single too! We can double date even! He's this little cutie named Chandler and he-" Rachel started in and Kurt cut her off before she could even make her sales pitch.

"Rachel, honestly, I don't need a date. I'm happy being single. Nothing like being single in New York," he chimed, managing to get out of Rachel's rather powerful grip. His tone softened as he turned back to her. "I'm really happy for you, Rachel, but honestly, I'm fine. I am. Go on your date and let me know how it goes okay?"

"Kurt..." Rachel worried her lip between her teeth, looking uncertain.

"Look, have fun on your date, all right? It's Sunday, all I want to do is relax, read Vogue and eat a muffin before we have to head to Tina's bachelorette party," he told her, his voice a little more firm.

Rachel still looked unconvinced, but her gaze got deterred as the smoke alarm began blasting as the waffles began to burn.

"Shoot!" she cried, turning the heat off the stove and throwing the charred waffles into the trash.

Kurt got a step ladder to turn off the alarm and waited for the activity to simmer down. At least it provided a distraction from Rachel setting him up on yet another date.

Really, Kurt was happy for his friend. But honestly, she jumped into relationships too fast to be healthy, longing for some fantasy that reality couldn't give her. In more ways she was still the innocent five-year-old girl with an affinity for star stickers and collection of animal sweaters that he had first met.

But now she was an adult. They both were. He couldn't do much to defend her the way he could in high school. These were her choices, not insults being thrown her way by a few vain cheerleaders that he could easily defeat in a battle of wits.

"I have no chickpea flour left to make more," Rachel bemoaned, taking out a bag of day-old muffins and bagels from the bread box, tossing a banana nut one at Kurt and then frowning at her own raisin studded one.

Kurt easily caught his and took a small nibble off the muffin, his stomach settling a little. Kurt was silently glad he wouldn't have to face Rachel's pleas of trying her cardboard-flavored waffles. As a vegan, Rachel bought most of her food at a special organic market a few blocks away that sold foods Kurt had never heard of before. Things like dragon fruit and swiss chard which both looked and tasted as strange as they sounded.

"Come on, I'll make you a smoothie. I'll buy you more chickpea flour later," Kurt suggested. Rachel brightened at that, thankfully. Rachel never let anything get her down for too long.

After they finished their breakfast, Kurt began to clean up dishes while Rachel went to haul out a old dilapidated cardboard box from their coat closet. After a few minutes of opening it with scissors and prodding through it, a sound of satisfaction rose from the other room, Kurt walking in wondering what the commotion was about.

"Found it! My old pearl necklace," she beamed, clasping it around her neck. It took Kurt a moment to place it, but he remembered it being a gift of his step-brother Finn's to Rachel back when they were dating in high school. He should've known, he went to the department store with Finn to pick it out for their anniversary. Kurt thought it seemed a little strange to wear a gift from an old flame on a date but Rachel didn't seem to place sentimental value on items like that. Kurt wondered if she even remembered where it came from but didn't want to upset her by mentioning Finn. Whenever the two saw each other it was always an awkward situation, uncomfortable for not only them but anyone around them. Kurt wasn't going to push any buttons around that area.

"It's beautiful," Kurt smiled and went over to the box, peering into it, observing the old ribbons from singing competitions, photos of her and her Dads and slightly torn yearbooks.

"Oh look, Kurt! It's us," Rachel exclaimed as she took out a small, slightly torn photo of the two from kindergarten. It was obviously Halloween. Kurt was dressed in a homemade costume as a ghost and Rachel swathed in princess gown, complete with a tiara. Kurt laughed as he observed the sequined and overly glittered ghost costume. In the picture both were smiling widely, Rachel's two front teeth missing and Kurt's cheek smudged with chocolate.

"Weren't we a sight," Kurt shook his head, grinning as he flipped through the memorabilia. They really had been best friends since they could remember.

"Remember how we first met?" Rachel asked.

"Of course I can. It was the first day kindergarten," Kurt nodded. He remembered little Rachel, her brown bangs held back in a red headband, flouncing around in a Minnie Mouse dress with knee high socks and shiny, buckled shoes. Kurt had sat off to the side, away from the loud kids who were decorating each other with finger paint or playing tag in the hallway outside when Rachel had pranced over to him.

"You asked me if your Dads could adopt me too so you could have a brother like me," Kurt grinned.

"And you said no," Rachel pouted.

"But I did say I would be your friend," Kurt pointed out and Rachel's lips turned up at that.

"Best friends ever since," she declared, ruffling Kurt's hair.

It was moments like these that Kurt was glad Rachel was his best friend. The two poured over old memories, looking back at talent shows and birthday parties. It shocked both to see that lunch had quickly approached when Rachel checked the clock to see when she should be leaving for her date with Brody. She quickly reapplied her makeup and dashed out, Kurt calling out a good luck before returning to the box with all the memories and nostalgia attached to them.

He flipped mindlessly through a photo album Rachel had put together of her show choir days. Maybe he wasn't quite done living in the past either.

Kurt froze on his Junior year's Sectional photo. It had been taken during the time when they were awarding out the trophies. He vaguely remembered the boys in the red and navy blue blazers who were off to the side. When the bullying had gotten worse back then he had looked into private schools and had come across one. What was the name of it though? Kurt pulled out the photo and turned it over to see it was scrawled on the back in Hiram Berry's handwriting.

Dalton. He felt he heard the name fairly recent but couldn't quite place it. Kurt flipped the photo back over and let his finger trail over the boys. There was still something he felt he couldn't quite remember about that day. Something about that name. But it had been nine years since so what was there to remember?

That was when Kurt's finger glided over a gorgeous boy with brilliant hazel eyes.

Kurt gaped and threw the picture back in the album before shutting it, putting it in the bag and stowing it back in the closet. Heart pounding fast, Kurt made his way back to his room. No, no, this couldn't be. Things like this didn't just happen.

Suddenly Kurt's phone buzzed, Kurt not even having to look at it to know who it was from.

The past really does never leave you after all.

* * *

"Okay, Hummel, enough of your moping around. Spill the deets. You've been a mood killer all night. At least Berry's PMS-ing, what's your excuse?" Santana inquired in a clipped tone, collapsing down next to Kurt on the couch he had made himself comfortable on for the past half hour.

Kurt blatantly ignored Santana as he plucked yet another one of the mini soy cheese canapés from a tray he had stolen off the hors d'oeuvre table. Okay maybe she had a point. Eating his feelings was not going to help anything. Really he was overreacting. And this was ridiculous. It was his friend's bachelorette party and he was supposed to be having fun. Hell he had practically organized half of the festivities and deserved to take part in some of the revelry.

Most girls spent their bachelorette parties - or at least from what the entertainment industry depicted - with their gal pals going out to bars or clubs and being rutted against by male strippers dressed up as firemen or cowboys. But when Kurt, Rachel and the rest of their crew organized the party they had decided that Tina would hate any, if not all, of these things. Tina was a wallflower and rather shy, tending to avoid being the center of attention. They thought what would be best was a sleepover like they used to have back in high school.

Kurt hadn't met many of his closest friends until the last couple years except for Rachel, of course, and Tina, who he met in high school. The memories of the sleepovers they had during their school years inspired their theme and they ran with it. This included renting a karaoke machine, installing a milkshake bar - like the Berry's used to have in their Oscar room - and a television set up with the latest and cheesiest rom coms.

They had decided on Brittany's apartment for the extravaganza. Brittany used to be a former backup dancer for some big heyday singer a few years back before discovering her love for baking. All her roommates were dancers in music videos and their hefty paychecks integrated paid the rent for a large apartment and flat screen television with a balcony overlooking a picturesque park.

The whole crew was present and happy, giggling and bubbly from their glasses of champagne, singing loud and off-key into microphones. The only addition to their group was Amanda, Santana's girlfriend. She was a firecracker of energy, with the perfect combination of sass and snark.

Unlike the rest of them she was born and raised in New York, and could snap into her vulgar New York Bronx dialect when she was provoked. Looks were deceiving since Amanda at first glance would appear a normal, sweet girl. She was quite beautiful, with fiery red ringlets for hair and striking green eyes. But if you looked at her the wrong way the girl would snap. However whenever one of them was going off the deep end, the other managed to reign in the calm.

Tonight however - whether it was the fact that she was among friends or had too much booze - she was giddy, swaying on the coffee table that had become a stage over the course of the night. Santana turned her attention away from Kurt for the moment to cheer Amanda on, whooping and catcalling, allowing Kurt to down the rest of his shirley temple. Unlike the rest of the girls he had work early in the morning and couldn't afford not going in because of a hangover.

"Seriously, Hummel," Santana glowered as she turned back to him. "Who put the stick up your ass?"

Kurt snorted and twirled the straw from his drink between his fingers, not even deigning to respond to Santana.

"What no snappy retort? No witty quip?" She persisted, a scowl on her face before she ripped the straw from Kurt's hand.

Kurt raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. "Is this the way you show concern for your friends, Santana? You know you act like you don't care about anyone except yourself, but really if you didn't care about me you would be out there licking shots off your girlfriend instead of giving me the third degree."

"Cut the amateur psychoanalyst crap," she seethed. "This is about you not even being able to let loose for one night."

"No, this is you and everyone else thinking they know what's best for me! I am fine by myself, I don't need a boyfriend," Kurt insisted. Santana's grimace melted into a smirk and she crossed her arms over her chest, looking quite pleased with herself.

"I didn't even say anything about your love life. So, who's it about? My guess is it's juicy little police officer with buns that I would gladly melt butter on if it weren't for my revolution to male genitalia," she smiled smugly.

Kurt felt the heat rise in his face and hoped Santana wouldn't notice it with the tenebrous lighting.

"Do you have to be so crass, Santana?" he asked sharply.

"Don't you know me at all, Hummel?" Santana snickered and shook her head in sheer amusement. "And obviously since you're deflecting the question, you are thinking about him."

"And now you're playing amateur detective," Kurt snidely remarked, Santana beaming at him in a rather devilish manner.

"Now you're getting it. So what'd he do? Or what _didn't _he do? He looked pretty kinky for such a small guy, but I bet he's got a big pack-" Santana began before getting cut off by an animated Rachel.

"Kurt, Kurt! Look who's here!" she screeched, seizing Kurt by his arm and pulling him up out of his seat before she began pointing to the front door where none other than Mr. Butterfingers himself stood. The one person Kurt had been trying to avoid thinking about - unsuccessfully. He looked just as confused and befuddled as when he had walked into Kurt's shop just a few days ago. Except this time he was still in his police uniform. Damn that uniform. If possible it seemed even tighter on him today.

Kurt knew Rachel was somehow behind this.

"Well lookie here," Santana drawled, gliding across the room to save Blaine from any further confusion since Brittany, who had answered the door, seemed puzzled as to who Blaine was.

"Rachel..." Kurt said in a slow, unperturbed tone. "Why is Blaine Anderson here?"

"I invited him," she said innocently, a bright smile still on her face. "I might have looked through your phone to get his number. I told him the address of Tina's house and told him who I was and that you'd be at a party tonight and he should come."

"Rachel! What did I tell you about not setting me up with guys?" Kurt snapped, Rachel looking startled, obviously not expecting this reaction from Kurt.

"I-I thought," she fumbled, "that because you didn't want to go on the double date with Chandler that you liked Blaine. So I arranged for him to come here."

Kurt groaned and shook his head furiously. "No, I don't like him! He's just a friend. Barely even that. More like an acquaintance or a stalker. And what gives you the right to invade my privacy like that? To look through my phone?"

"I didn't read much," Rachel defended herself. "I just kept seeing your phone light up and I was simply curious. Maybe you should tell me next time not to go in your room, read your texts and use your face creams! And you should be the one explaining to me why you and Blaine are exchanging dozens flirty texts!"

"What's this about me and flirty texts?" a smooth velvety voice asked, Kurt turning around to meet Blaine's rather obnoxious grin.

"Nothing!" Kurt asserted. Blaine looked unconvinced.

"I just met Mr. Short, Tan and Handsome by the door," Santana purred. "He was kind enough to tell me that he was invited by the hobbit last minute so he didn't have time to change and was under the impression this was a regular party," she cast a glance at Rachel whose mouth opened in protest to being called a hobbit. "But not to worry, I assured him he's welcome to make himself comfortable here and between Kurt's legs."

Kurt's eyes widened in horror and Blaine flushed a bright crimson. Rachel just looked as if she just wanted to fade into the wallpaper.

"Enjoy boys," Santana not-so-gently pushed Blaine in Kurt's direction before striding over to her girlfriend, where the two proceeded to play tonsil hockey. Kurt shuddered and looked away to see Brittany standing next to Blaine, in rapture of his hair, putting one of her lithe fingers in it and coiling a strand of hair around her finger. Brittany was always a little off but the alcohol had made her lose any sense of social etiquette she normally maintained.

"Your hair's so soft. Like my grandmother's dead dog," she intoned seriously. Blaine looked unsure of whether this was a compliment or not.

"Thank you?" He laughed nervously as Brittany took her finger away out of his hair and began to look at him intently again, her eyes scanning his uniform before letting out a gasp.

"You're a stripper!" she whispered with wide eyes.

"What?" Kurt and Blaine asked in unison.

"Strip!" she cried out, tugging at Blaine's badge, Blaine gently pushing her back. The other girls looked around wide-eyed and began chanting too.

"Strip, strip, strip!" they shouted, even normally bashful Tina shrieking with them.

Blaine met Kurt's eyes and smiled and gave a shrug before unbuttoning his shirt and tossing it onto the couch. Thank god he was still in an undershirt or else Kurt wasn't sure he wouldn't have the restraint to join in.

"Enough!" Kurt called out, trying to maintain some order, grabbing Blaine's shirt and thrusting it back into Blaine's hands.

"Blaine is _not _a stripper. He's just a regular police officer and he's a friend of mine," Kurt explained to them all.

The girls let out mumbles and cries of disappointment.

"Then he has to leave. Only girls and honorary girls allowed," Brittany told him.

"He's gay though," Rachel whispered to Brittany who let out a pleased sound.

"A dolphin! Like Kurt! Okay you can stay," she exclaimed, clapping her hands together before Rachel dragged her off, Rachel sending a wink Kurt's way as if she was helping him out.

Kurt made a frustrated sound in the back of his throat as Blaine buttoned his shirt back up. He was going to have to have a serious talk with her later violating his privacy and skin care products.

"You okay there?" Blaine asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Just peachy," Kurt spat out, marching over to the milkshake bar in a huff and plopping down on one of the stools. Moments later, unsurprisingly, Blaine joined him. He didn't say anything, simply hummed softly as he prepared two peanut butter chocolate shakes with whipped cream and cherries on top. Kurt wondered how Blaine knew peanut butter and chocolate was his favorite but didn't say anything. After Blaine set a shake down in front of him Blaine also pulled over a nearby bowl of curly fries and began dipping them in the shake and popping them into his mouth.

Kurt momentarily forgot why he was so mad and made a face. "That's disgusting."

Blaine looked taken aback by the comment and shook his head. "Oh Kurt, Kurt, Kurt. I have so much to still teach you. Come on try it, it's delicious. Like Oreos in milk and pretzels in hot mustard."

"All of that is just gross," Kurt shuddered.

"Come on," Blaine pouted, jutting out his lower lip. "Please. For me?"

That's when Kurt realized Blaine didn't recognize him. After he saw that photo he had thought... But no, Blaine couldn't. He was actually kind and not just playing with Kurt for his own amusement. He was genuinely a nice person.

Reluctantly, Kurt dunked a fry in and shoved the fry in his mouth. God, Kurt hated when other people were right. Kurt noticed Blaine watching him expectantly. Kurt said nothing as he dipped another fry in his shake and ate it, which resulted in a sound of triumph arising from Blaine.

"Don't start," Kurt warned him not wanting to hear the old _I told you so_.

Blaine smirked and shook his head. "I won't." And he didn't.

The two silently finished their shakes, occasionally dipping their fries into their shakes or watching the girls make fools of themselves on Dance Dance Revolution, save for Brittany.

"Your friends are certainly... interesting," Blaine observed. "A little manic. But nice."

"And embarrassing," Kurt added.

"Well now it's only fair you meet my embarrassing friends. Most of mine are down at the station. Maybe you could come by tomorrow?" Blaine offered.

"I can't. Quinn told me she was going to come in tomorrow so we could make some more decisions regarding the dress," Kurt told him.

"Oh," Blaine nodded, sounding slightly disappointed.

Kurt considered it for a moment before sighing and relenting. "I can come over on my lunch break."

"Really?" Blaine asked, his eyes hopeful.

"Really," Kurt promised, his tone and face softening. Maybe he was too hard on Blaine when he first met him. He really was a sweet guy. Annoying...but sweet nonetheless.

Blaine was all smiles as he licked the whipped cream off his fingers in a way that was far too pornographic than it should've been.

"You know," Blaine fiddled with the cherry in his fingers, twirling the stem, glancing up at Kurt. "If you can tie a cherry stem with your tongue it means you're a good kisser?"

Kurt laughed and shook his head. "That's impossible."

"It's not," Blaine protested. "I can do it."

"Show me then," Kurt dared, in a slightly teasing tone. He didn't know where that came from.

"Gladly," Blaine took the cherry in his mouth, eating it before rolling the pit into a napkin and licking the glistening juice around his lips off in a sensuous manner. He placed the stem on his tongue and closed his mouth, his eyes coming together slightly in deep concentration. His wide jaw moved from side to side for a little bit before not a minute later he extracted a perfectly knotted cherry stem from his mouth.

Kurt's jaw dropped open in shock. "No way."

"Now can I say I told you so?" Blaine grinned.

"No," Kurt laughed and tore off his own cherry stem, determined if Blaine could do it, so could he.

"You can do it," Blaine encouraged, Kurt giving a small smile before inserting it in his mouth and fumbling his tongue around pointlessly. How did Blaine do it? After a few minutes Kurt gave up, spitting the slightly-chewed stem into a napkin with a disgruntled expression on his face.

"I guess I'm not a good kisser," Kurt told Blaine, who shook his head.

"No. Sometimes it just takes lots of...practice," Blaine said, his gaze flickering briefly to Kurt's lips. Or did he just imagine it?

A flush rose to the roots of Kurt's hair but before he could sheepishly reply, Santana strutted over.

"Get a room," Santana cackled, grabbing a handful of cherries before leaving them again. Kurt did not want to know what she was planning on doing with those. Amanda finally relinquished the coffee table stage when Santana whispered something in her ear and they went into the kitchen.

Blaine chuckled and looked at the lone microphone.

"I think I'm going to go sing something. Be right back," he patted Kurt's hand before going up to the karaoke and selecting a song from the machine before making his way onto the stage.

Kurt was barely able to register what happened when Blaine launched into the song. Kurt didn't know whether to roll his eyes or fall on the floor laughing at Blaine's song selection.

"_Sunshine, lollipops and rainbows, everything that's wonderful is what I feel when we're together. Brighter than a lucky penny when you're the near the rainclouds disappear, dear, and I feel so fine, just to know you're mine!_" Blaine sang in his usual upbeat, happy tone. But boy, the guy could sing. His voice was rich and melodic even with the silly song. His voice was still so gorgeous. He could still vaguely remember the strands of Teenage Dream that Blaine had sang that day at Sectionals.

Kurt closed his eyes and let the words wash over him. How that voice sang to him in his dreams and gave him the hope he needed to make it through high school. But Blaine had done a lot more than that, really.

"So what did you think?" Blaine asked, sounding slightly anxious, breaking out of his reverie. Kurt hadn't even realized Blaine had finished and made his way back over to him.

"You're amazing," Kurt blurted out and then quickly rushed to fix what he said. "I mean your voice. Your voice is amazing."

Blaine laughed and clapped a hand on Kurt's knee, shaking his head bashfully. "Gosh, I haven't sung in front of people since college."

"You should do it more," Kurt encouraged. "You're really talented."

Blaine blushed bashfully. Some of the girls around the room were still asking for encores of Blaine but Rachel had overtaken the stage with a powerful rendition of the duet between her and her onscreen love interest, I Love You (As much as I am able). It was rather entertaining at her attempts to sing both parts at once but with the distraction, Blaine took Kurt by the elbow and led him out to the terrace.

The balcony had been decorated for the special night by Mercedes, who had had really outdone herself. Roses deep red, sunset orange and snowdrop white were placed in colorful vases scattered throughout the deck. Flower arrangements of wildflowers, lavender and daisies gave off a strong, pungent scent that overwhelmed Kurt's olfactory nerves. And hanging lanterns hung overhead, illuminating the balcony in their soft glow, twinkling like they were their own stars.

Kurt shivered slightly in the brisk air of the night, Blaine silently draping his own coat over him. Kurt mouthed a thank you and sat down on one of the cushioned patio couches. In front of him was an array of snacks, cookies and crackers that he didn't touch any of it since he already indulged himself with that shake, fries and those palatable mini soy cheese canapés.

"I thought we could escape the mayhem for a little bit. Talk," Blaine explained, sitting down next to Kurt.

"Talk," Kurt echoed, his voice drifting off into the night. He looked over at the glaring city lights, hearing a siren in the distance. But on this balcony it was almost as if it were the two of them. As if all New York faded into the background.

"Sorry I couldn't change into some other clothes. It was kind of short notice," Blaine apologized, smoothing down his pants and squirming slightly in his seat.

Kurt shook his head. "Don't apologize. It's actually rather becoming on you."

"Thanks," Blaine said sincerely and hesitantly took Kurt's hand, twining their fingers together. Kurt didn't say anything, simply looking at their hands. It made him feel slightly more grounded.

Kurt felt a sinking in his stomach too. One of guilt. He had treated Blaine terribly the first few times they met. Maybe he judged him too quickly. Maybe Santana was right and he did use walls to hold himself up in attempt to protect himself from being hurt.

"Your friends sure seemed to like the uniform too," Blaine smirked.

Or maybe he was still a little too cocky for his own good.

"They also thought you were a stripper," Kurt pointed out. Blaine laughed at that.

"Well that was a first for me, honestly. And, really Kurt, I'm sorry for just bursting into the party like that. I should've asked you but Rachel texted me and I just thought..." Blaine faltered, looking like he had lost his grasp on words for a moment. Kurt didn't understand why he looked so nervous. "I just wanted to see you again I guess," Blaine admitted.

For some reason Kurt couldn't explain his heart sped up at this.

"I'm glad you came. You're a lot more sane than most of my friends," Kurt chuckled and Blaine gave a low laugh as well, though there wasn't much humor in it.

"Friends," Blaine repeated. He paused for a moment as if considering his words before continuing, "I think I should thank your friend Rachel later. Maybe I could have Cooper call her up."

Kurt groaned and threw his head back. "Oh god, don't remind me of that. She would just about die if he did. But okay, if you did I think you shouldn't for a while. Not until I can get an apology from her. I'm still a little peeved she went through my phone."

"But then I wouldn't have come and saved you from your friends," Blaine reminded him.

"True," Kurt acknowledged. "But it was really her trying to set me up on a date. Again. Any gay guy she meets she automatically thinks we're destined to be. This is the second time today she's tried to get me a boyfriend. First it was with this guy who's a friend of her newest boyfriend and now you. It's ridiculous how she gets a new flavor of the month all the time and yet everyone thinks I'm the one that needs help." Kurt momentarily wondered why he was telling Blaine all of this. He didn't even tell his closest friends his anger over Rachel and his supposed friends who wouldn't listen to him when he said he was happy on his own.

Blaine appeared to be contemplating what Kurt said for a moment but Kurt was afraid maybe he had decided that Kurt was too judgmental and harsh on his friends and would brush him off. He didn't understand why that idea scared him so much.

"Your friends just want you to be happy, Kurt," Blaine said softly. "But I understand where you're coming from. You want it to be special. And that's what it should be. Lots of my buddies from the station have had strings of one night stands or dalliances that never turn into relationships. But it should be special. Being with someone. It's got to be that can't-eat, can't-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff."

"You did _not_ just quote _It Takes Two_," Kurt deadpanned before bursting into a fit of giggles. "But yes, that's what I mean. Being with someone. Being someone's boyfriend, girlfriend, partner, whatever term you want to use, should be special. Love should be special."

Somehow Blaine was able to put exactly what he was feeling into words, something not even Rachel could do. Something not even his father could do.

"I believe I did," Blaine said proudly, looking pleased to see he got Kurt to laugh. "I want someone to be with me when I'm old. Be able to shout at kids to get off our lawn and spoil our grandkids like crazy. I want to be with someone when they're old too and we both have wrinkles and bifocals and dentures."

Kurt began to laugh harder which caused Blaine to laugh along with him. "Don't forget possible hip replacement surgery!"

"Liver spots."

"White hair."

"And really who else will help change our adult diapers?" Blaine asked, Kurt gaping and making a disgusted sound.

"Oh god, Blaine!" Kurt scrunched up his nose.

Blaine chuckled extracted his hand from Kurt's to playfully tickle Kurt's ribs.

"Stop!" Kurt cried, giggling and managing to escape from Blaine's hands. "I guess we're both just a couple silly romantics," Kurt sighed as he settled back into the couch, turning to face Blaine and for the first time noticing how close their faces had become.

So close that he could almost feel the heat from Blaine's breath on his lips. Blaine's eyes were focused on Kurt's face, causing Kurt to shiver again. But not from the cold.

Something in the very core of him that ached to lean forward, closer to Blaine's warmth. Closer to that amazing scent of chocolate, cherries and something else so alluring, so distinctively Blaine.

"It's not silly," Blaine murmured, his eyes glazed over as gaze descended to Kurt's lips. Kurt's breathing hitched in his chest as he saw Blaine leaning in. Kurt's eyes began to drift closed, his lips connecting with Blaine's soft...cheek?

Kurt's eyes flew open and he pulled back to see Blaine's head had turned slightly at the last second, Blaine looking behind him with wide eyes. Following Blaine's line of vision he saw none other than Brittany, standing a few feet away from them, holding a fondue machine with one hand and her cat, Lord Tubbington, with the other whose fat cat head was currently dunked into the fondue.

"Lord Tubbington wanted some cookies with his cheese," she explained softly, not even noticing Kurt and Blaine's close proximity, or at least not saying anything about it. She picked up a small tray of peanut butter cookies. She dipped one in the cheese and shoved it whole in her mouth and began to walk inside before calling over her shoulder.

"Umph!" she swallowed thickly before continuing. "Tina's starting the magical mirror to watch movies. You should come."

And with that she went back inside, leaving Kurt and Blaine in a daze as to what happened.

"Um, we should go inside," Kurt muttered, pulling back away from Blaine, still remembering the feeling of Blaine's warm cheek against his lips and wondered what would've happened if Brittany hadn't come out when she did.

"Yeah," Blaine said in a disheartened voice, plodding along behind Kurt.

They didn't mention the almost kiss the rest of the night.

* * *

That night Kurt dreamt about a river of cheese, milkshakes that sung and warm hazel eyes.

It was the first time Kurt dreamt about Blaine in over nine years.

* * *

A/N: So there you have it folks! Yes Kurt and Blaine have met each other before. I promise this is not as important a plot point as it might seem but there is some reasoning behind it. Let me know if you have any questions! Reviews are also appreciated! :) Anyway Happy Friday everyone!


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